


The Cellar Door

by telepathy



Series: The Castle & The Rose [7]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Belle Explores, Curious Belle, Expanded Scenes, F/M, Intrigue, Missing Scenes, Sad Beast, compassion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telepathy/pseuds/telepathy
Summary: Beast is resting after his ordeal with the wolves, so Belle goes for an evening castle stroll. (1st time From Belle's POV!) – Expanded/New Scene –





	

My anger over his outrage and overreaction has faded to something more like dull annoyance. I don't yet know why he lashed out, but he did save me. And then I saved him. 

Surely he would have perished if left behind. Exposure or the fresh wounds he'd collected might have been the leading causes, or perhaps even the wolves could have returned. 

I shudder at the thought and silently thank my father for raising me the caring way. 

He's been sleeping a while now, and so I've busied myself wandering the great, quiet halls, candlelight in hand; thinking back to this morning's conversation as I move amidst suits of armor and dusty window ledges, how might I offer any measure of compassion when he doesn't believe he deserves it? 

Is it even in me to give this to him? Is it my responsibility? Yes and no, I decide, my booted heels taking me farther into the castle then I've ever ventured. 

But I worry: he's been alone for so impossibly long that I'm not entirely certain there is a right way to undo his torment. 

Pausing at the base of a turret, I'm pulled from my inner musings to take in the sights. Inspecting my surroundings a bit more closely, there’s aged stone dotted with emerald moss and a hidden flight of stairs draped fully in shadow. I can only assume they lead down into the castle's basement and my curiosity surges. 

Without hesitation, I descend, the fingertips of my left hand guiding this journey with each and every length I go. There's oddities and imperfections like all royal and wealthy fortresses, but there’s more here. Fine chips and small shears that spider downwards, all together form a peculiar pattern that doesn't seem to be…normal. They're too even, too…claw-like – not what you might discover from the weights and stresses each block must bear time immemorial. 

The dull, yellow light of my candle flickers suddenly, nearly extinguished by a gust of foul, acrid air. The scent that follows this unsuspecting plume all but assaults me and I'm forced to stop and choke back a gag. It continues on, waves of air moving about and pushing me away, as if an unseen entity is directing it. 

"What in the name of..."

Undeterred, I keep on, the desire to know what this _thing_ is, driving every purposeful movement I take. I create a barrier between the winds and the apex of the candle, shielding my only source of light, while consequently losing the wall as my sole balance. 

It's getting more difficult the deeper I traverse but this is not something I can ignore. Who could? 

And then suddenly, everything stops. The whiplash from the air dies down, the scents recede and both of my feet are stood on the farthermost landing. I've come to the bottom of the staircase, successfully defeating a mysterious force. Or perhaps I've won a battle against nothing at all. 

There's a door straight ahead of me, and I start; its of an ancient wood, one that looks to be wearing an identical trail of marks, similar to those clawed into the stones just above me. Yet, these etchings appear to have been…scorched onto the surface itself with precision and skill. It feels so mystical, so intentional, but an echo of otherworldly prowess seems more apt. 

Surely this is the work of a witch or an enchantress, there's little doubt there. "What…pray-tell…”

I touch the wood gently, sliding a fingertip pad down and up; mesmerized by the loops and dips left from someone long gone from this place, I trace the pattern absentmindedly. 

The curving, endless lines begins to glow, the light as white and pure as the daytime sun and wholly unnatural. Neither the moon nor a candelabra is the source of this and my intrigue is swelling greater by the minute. 

And then it happens. The door widens, slowly at first, creating a muddied symphony of faraway sounds that pulse through the icy stone beneath me. The metallic creaks that follow are jarring, piercing even, and I wince as they grate the underside of my skin and force my eyelids to close. 

After adjusting, I nibble on my lower lip and walk through fearlessly, recalling the words my father had spoken of mother. Her strength, despite never knowing it firsthand, drives me onwards, now more than ever.

That and an insatiable appetite for both adventure and the truth. 

I'm not disappointed. Through the doorway, I'm immediately thrust into a world unlike the one I'm currently a physical part of. It allows me permission without ever taking note than I'm actually here. Moving through and around me, encapsulating my every sense. 

In here there are beautiful women and men adorned in the finest ball gowns I've ever dared imagined were real…and _dancing_. The movements are a series of choreographed, precise steps that are blindly engaging, each person begging for contact from the other; it's a grandiose ballroom of energy, fluid and utterly full with such a lively crowd. 

And there's a divine aria being sung to the keys of a gentlemen sat at his piano. But my eyes are drawn to a prince: a tall, handsome man adorned in the finest cloth – a deep, velvety blue-green embellished suit. His face wears Kingly paint while his hair is a traditional royal wig that adds far too many years to his youthful face. 

He dances wrist to wrist with a series of interchangeable women; turning, twirling about in feigned celebration. His face is weary though, unenthusiastic even. It's as if he's done this time and again and his wit and lust for such posh events has waned. 

Stilling myself, I’m caught unmoving and stood in the center of this hallowed, frenzied rush. The Prince stops just before me, his eyes trained on a section of wall nearby the door I just entered through. 

And those eyes…they're intensely blue, a crystalline mirage that I've only ever seen worn by one other. 

_"...Beast?"_

The figure doesn't hear or acknowledge me, in fact no one is able to see that I've entered their gathering at all. I realize it then: they're ghostly echoes – permanent phantoms stuck in a cursed loop. They’re not real in the way we exist in the present tense, but absolutely are true to their time. And it's obvious now that this is a memory, a moment frozen forever and replayed for any who dare to brave the cost of entry. 

My gaze jumps from one side of this fantastic whirlwind to the next, searching for the source of their pause. Unabashedly, I gravitate towards those two vivid cerulean orbs – they calm in a way I had not known they did before. 

If I were there, perhaps I’d have asked for a da–

A thundering _’boom’_ storms from far off inside of this fated glimpse and its audible wake strips away any remaining enjoyment. There’s a palpable fear growing, and a sudden hesitance to the Prince’s actions that bring every patron and guest to an abrupt halt. 

The next few moments happen quicker than I’m able to process: a bolt of lightning strikes beyond a new and imagined doorway, an old, feeble woman stalks inside, uninvited yet full with purpose. The Prince goes to her, a rose is proffered, he sneers, refusing the stranger’s gift and then…everything changes. The old woman disappears, revealing a beautiful enchantress speaking of the beauty within and his lack of love and kindness. Whispers of damnation. 

I watch in stunned horror as he transforms right before my eyes; his physicality is stripped of the expensive, lavish clothing, leaving him naked, wearing a new body altogether. He lies inside a pile of tattered blues and greens, beside a set of broken sole-less shoes meant to fit a pair of feet he no longer owns. The Beast was born under the curse of an unwanted guest and I…feel compassion for him barrage the forefront of my thoughts. 

“What had he done so wrong? _Refuse a rose?_ No, no, there must be more.”

The visage fades the moment he stands on two very unfamiliar legs and I throw my hands out to try and hold onto it a little while longer. It’s futile and I know it, but my heart is heavy by an unseen, unexpected ache. And then it begins all over again, from the very start. The Prince seated, appearing bored and unbothered by the beautiful men and women before him. Then he steps down from his throne to dance…

“No, no! There has to be more–I don’t understand!” 

“She desired shelter and I denied her. It was my f-fault.” 

Belle spins around and nearly stumbles, discovering a weakened and worn-down looking Beast; he stares at the ghastly memory playing out around her, his eyes forlorn and wholly regretful. 

“But you…you were young, you were so young… You were a _Prince_ …and a beggar woman came to you, uninvited and, and…” 

He sighs and leans against the heavy doorframe, his gaze rising to the vaulted stone ceiling, “It doesn’t matter. I had an opportunity to do the right thing, and I didn’t.” 

She walks towards him, effectively closing the distance, not entirely sure what she’s meant to do or say next. “Tell me, please? Tell me of this curse. How can I help? I was sent here for a reason, I must be able to help.” 

Those same blue eyes connect with hers and he smirks, raises an eyebrow, “It’s not your responsibility, Belle. Now come, let’s leave this haunted place.”

As the magical entrance is sealed once again behind them, they ascend the staircase in silence, Lumiere’s light leading them along. Belle is in front, the pads of her fingertips dazedly brushing the etched marks that piqued her interest from before. 

“What are these carvings? Did you do them?” 

Beast chuffs and nods his head, and tufts of unkempt brown hair bounce across his now-clothed chest and shoulders. “I tried to undo the spell that the enchantress had placed upon the cellar door. I figured if I could break it, then I’d never be forced to watch… _myself_ from that time ever again.”

“Do you go down here often?” 

He doesn’t answer at first, eventually waiting so long as to give her pause to stop and turn around. “Did I say something ill?”

“I…I visit often enough.”

“But…why?” 

“Wouldn’t you?” 

She says nothing more as they walk amongst the shadows, knowing without question what she would have done if presented with the same situation. Still, the punishment doesn’t seem to fit the crime and it’s something Belle will revisit with him again. 

For now, he must heal. If the curse is not her responsibility, his wounds surely are.

**Author's Note:**

> Took a little longer than expected to push this one out, as it's my first from Belle's point of view. I'm much more comfortable with Beast telling the story, but leaving comfort zones is a good thing and all that. More coming – but feel free to send requests in the comment section if you have any scenes from the film you'd love to read more of! Also considering a standalone, multi-chapter fic... x


End file.
